


it’s never too late to change your luck

by outruntheavalanche



Series: all our bits and precious bobs [9]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Captured, Community: tfa_kink, Future Fic, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, In Media Res, M/M, Minor Character Death, Not Beta Read, Plot Holes Large Enough to Drive a Semi Through
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 12:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6052056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/pseuds/outruntheavalanche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Finn is still wearing the jacket.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	it’s never too late to change your luck

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](http://nullrefer.com/?http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1841.html?thread=1733937#cmt1733937) prompt at [](http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**tfa_kink**](http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/): **Poe and Finn get captured by General Hux and the First Order during a mission and while they seem intent on taking Finn and Poe alive, it soon becomes apparent this might not be such a good thing. Hux announces Finn will be taken and reconditioned, turned into the perfect stormtrooper, and Poe will be imprisoned/kept for Kylo Ren to do with as he pleases/something similarly terrible.**
> 
> **So, just as they're about to be separated, possibly forever, Finn and Poe have their "I love you"/"I know" moment. (I don't want an exact repeat of the scene in ESB though. Something that captures the feel of the ESB Han/Leia scene but is unique to Finn and Poe.)**
> 
> Title from "Revolution," by Diplo (ft. Faustix & Imanos and Kai). Because ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯.

Thick plumes of exhaust swirl around them like snow flurries and Poe is reminded of Starkiller Base, even though he never set foot there. Something prods sharply into his back, between his shoulder blades, and his thoughts scatter. Poe lurches forward on unsteady legs and feels himself going down, but a plastoid-covered hand catches him by the elbow. 

“Move, prisoner,” the ’trooper behind him orders. “General Hux expects your presence for the transfer of prisoner FN-2187.”

“Finn,” Poe corrects under his breath, keeping his eyes straight ahead. “His name is Finn.”

He tugs at the restraints that bind his arms behind his back, hoping against hope, but no such luck. He’ll just have to find another route of escape.

The ’trooper jabs him again with the butt-end of a baton and Poe hisses in pain. 

They’re headed for the landing platform where Poe knows his X-Wing is waiting for him. If he could just loosen the restraints around his wrists, maybe he could grab the ’trooper’s baton or even the blaster clipped at his waist. 

The two of them round a corner and suddenly they’re on the landing platform. Poe’s X-Wing is nothing more than charred, smoking rubble and torn, twisted sheets of metal. He scans quickly for BB-8, but the droid is nowhere to be found. He hopes that BB was able to get away in time.

Poe forces away a flare of panic, allows himself to be frogmarched until the ’trooper stops abruptly and hauls him to a standstill.

“Do not move so much as a finger,” he tells him, butting Poe in the back of the head with that damned baton. “I will not hesitate to cut you d—”

“PX-5433, remember yourself.” A thin man with a shock of bright orange hair peeking out from under his black cap strides over to them. He flicks cold gray-green eyes over Poe and his upper lip curls. “This prisoner is to be left unharmed. Per Kylo Ren’s orders.”

“What would Ren want with _this_ one?” PX-5433 asks, the disdain evident even through his mask, as he prods Poe in the small of his back. “ _FN-2187_ is the one w—”

Electricity crackles in the air and a bolt of blue colors Poe’s peripheral vision. Poe turns, but PX-5433 is already crumpling to the ground, a charred, smoking hole in the center of his plastoid chestplate.

Poe whips back around, his heart racing into his throat, stomach clenching. The red-haired man holds a blaster in one gloved hand. He walks over to the dead ’trooper and gives the corpse a savage kick in the side.

“Do not question a direct superior, PX-5433,” the man sneers.

Poe is working at his cuffs again, trying to find a chink in the armor, when the sound of footsteps draws his attention. Poe lifts his head.

Finn is being dragged along by a nearly Wookiee-tall ’trooper in a gleaming chromium suit. The ’trooper’s black cape, lined with blood-red, flutters around the two of them, whipped by the wind. 

Finn is still wearing the jacket. 

“Poe!” Finn tries to break into a run, but the ’trooper jerks him back with a mere flick of the wrist.

Then the ’trooper inclines their head and speaks in a low, harsh tone that carries, and Poe realizes it’s a woman underneath that armor. Phasma. The leader of Finn’s former unit, back on Starkiller Base. The one they’d all thought was dead.

“Finn. I—”

“Silence.” The man holding onto Poe doesn’t hesitate to grab him by his hair and jerk his head until their faces are nearly touching. “You have not been given permission to speak.”

He jerks Poe’s head until his neck aches, and he can hear Finn in the distance, hear his ineffective protests, labored breaths that grow quick and panicky.

Poe ignores the fingers that twist savagely in his hair. “Finn, it’s okay. I’ll be okay. You’ll be o—”

“ _Silence_.” The man cracks Poe across the face with the blaster and white-hot pain blooms under his left eye, radiates down the side of his face.

“Thought you said Ren wanted me unharmed,” Poe rasps, a thick, gritty laugh getting trapped in his throat.

The man says nothing; rather, he grips Poe by the elbow and jerks him over to where Finn and Phasma are waiting.

“Uncuff my arms,” Finn demands of their captors and—no, no, buddy, don’t do this, don’t—

“And why should we do that?” Phasma sounds almost _amused_. Poe imagines her as an overlarge loth-cat toying with its prey before it feasts. It’s distressingly easy.

“I’m ready to return to the Order and face the consequences for my act of treason,” Finn says, unwavering, chin held high. “I’d like for you to uncuff me so I can return this jacket to its rightful owner.”

“I suppose that can be arranged,” Phasma says. She releases his arm and moves to undo his cuffs. “If you try to escape, General Hux and I have been authorized to take you down by any means necessary.”

Poe watches, breath—and heart—caught in his throat as Phasma opens the gleaming cuffs and Finn rubs his wrists. Hux releases Poe from his own cuffs and he does think, just for a moment, of bolting. In the three seconds it takes Poe to weigh his options, however—would he rather die running for his life, probably end up with a blaster bolt to his back, or spend the rest of his days as a prisoner of Kylo Ren?—Hux grabs him savagely by the arm, ending any dreams of escape.

Finn shrugs the worn, brown leather jacket off and folds it into a neat square, smoothes a hand over the slipshod patchwork—Poe’s handiwork—on the back. Finn holds the jacket out, nodding at Poe encouragingly. Urging him to take it.

“It’s your jacket, Finn.” Poe cringes at how broken he sounds, how breathless, how close to tears. “I can’t take it.”

Finn just presses the folded up jacket into Poe’s chest. Poe wraps his arms around it and blinks a sudden stinging wetness out of his eyes. 

“Keep it. It suits you.” Finn quirks the corner of his mouth up in a pale approximation of a smile.

Poe opens his mouth to say something— _I love you_ dangles on the tip of his tongue—when something sharp pricks at his fingers. He looks at Finn, who’s still looking back at him, but his smile is different now. He almost looks _triumphant_. Poe unfolds the jacket and hastily pulls it on, and as he slides his arms through the sleeves, he realizes why Finn was smiling. 

Phasma yanks Finn back and cuffs him roughly, nearly jerking his arms out of the sockets. Finn doesn’t so much as wince. 

Poe offers his wrists to Hux, who lifts an eyebrow at him but says nothing, as he slips the cuffs back on and locks them.

Poe curls his fingers in the sleeve of his jacket, pulls at the loose thread in the cuff until he closes his fingers around the pin Finn had sewn into the lining of the sleeve for him. It’s not much, but it’s something. Poe’s survived on far less. He wants so badly to grab Finn and kiss him until he sees stars, but that will have to wait for now.


End file.
